Sirius Black
by Lone Fairytale
Summary: Sirius O/C.
1. Chapter 1

XD. My trashy serious OC. Please review and rate. I promise lots and lots of romance and angst. Rated T. Hehehehehehe.

**Chapter One**

_Blood trickles down the side of my cheek. I can feel it, warm and smooth, against my skin. Moisture is streaked across my brow, my arm jarred to the side. My head swims, flashes of light in my dark surroundings, blurring together. Long thin scratches run across my arms, a sharp gash in my stomach._

_And his arms are there, around me, supporting my thin frame, soft and gentle._

_"Hold on," he tells me, "Please. Please hold on."_

...

I suppose I should start at the beginning. And I mean the very beginning.

I was born on the 4th of August 1961, to Kiba and Walkan Fallon, one of the ancient pure-blood lines. Being as such they called me Umbra, the darkest point of the shadow.

That was probably the first thing that made me doubt their sanity. But it certainly wasn't the last.

When, at the age of around nine or ten, I realized that names like Umbra were not at all the norm. in society I set about disassociating myself as much as possible from it. I invented myself a nickname, "Um". It caught on pretty quickly, though to this day my parents refuse to address me as such.

But then, what did I expect?

You see I'm not like them at all. I don't really know why. My "friends" - or at least distant relations and family acquaintances who my parents liked to delude themselves into thinking were in anyway kind toward me - grew up in the exact same circumstances as me. But they were different then me.

Looking back, now equipped with much better profanities then I knew at that age, I realize the best words to describe them would probably be snot-faced little brats. They thought they were better then everyone else, would watch people walk by on the streets and jeer quietly at them. "Mudbloods", "Filth", "Scum".

Me... Well let's just say that's not the sort of thing I have ever found particularly amusing. This bought on scorn from the others, my so called "friends". I quickly accepted my place. Stay out of the way and avoid harm. I had two elder brothers, and because of this I was easily excused from social circles. I was not expected carry my family name on, or marry my cousin or any other stupid thing that the heirs to the house were. Thankfully.

But that wasn't it. At the age of nine I discovered I was a metamorphmagus.

How could I not know you probably wonder? I don't really know. One day I was just staring in the mirror, and pop. All my hair disappeared.

For the next three days I alternated between varying types of hats, earning me strange looks from the muggles I past in the streets. Then, on the evening of the third night, I concentrated really hard and my hair came back again.

Over the next few years I learnt to control it, until I could fashion my body at will. It was pretty amazing. My parents had a field day when they heard about it. Of course, since I was not very interest in using it for any sort of world domination type, evil, muggle abusing purposes, they soon just let it go. Let me get one with my extremely uninteresting life.

And then I got my letter. I was actually in serious doubt that it would come. Unlike some children my parents had never given trusted me with a real wand, and as such I had no experience with magic. I loved to read though, books on magic and spell-casting. In theory I was a great witch.

In practice, well let's just say the one time I got up the courage to play with my father's wand, when he left it lying around on our marble kitchen top, I blew up the fridge and my elder brother's guinea pig, fudge, lost his left leg.

So when I received that letter on my eleventh birthday, I was overjoyed at the prospect of Hogwarts. My parents didn't seem to notice. I supposed they had expected it. But to me it was one of the most glorious moments I had ever experienced.

The rest was a whirl. Shopping in Diagon Alley, buying my little white kitten (whom I later dubbed Curly), visiting the Apothecary...

And then I was off to Hogwarts.

Later that very same day I was sorted, unsurprisingly into Slytherin house (a fact which caused me great despair), A few people, including my elder brothers cheered. An even louder boo-ing was heard from the Grryfindors.

I was introduced to my dormitory, my room mates. They were just as excited as me. We made a sort of weak friendship that night. but it didn't take me long to figure out they were exactly the same as everyone else I knew. Shallow and foolish. I retreated from their close circle and they soon learnt just to ignore me.

I did have one friend though. Ella. I first met her on the train when I returned to Hogwarts for a second year. She, like me, was something of an outcast. Sorted into Ravenclaw, though, I hadn't ever seen her, until she saved a first-year from being beaten up by an older boy. My brother.

I don't exactly know how, but since then we have been the best of friends.

I am sixteen now, a very different person to she who first gazed upon the starry roof of the Great Hall, sat under the sorting hat and watched as the world decided her fate.

This is where my story begins.


	2. Chapter 2

**Just be warned everybody, some things about the characters and the history of Hogwarts I have tweaked a little bit. :P. Thank you to Mwha for my first review.**

**Chapter Two**

The whistle of the train rings shrilly in the freezing air.

"Shit," I say under my breath, "Late again."

It wasn't really under my control. My brother, now in his final year of school, had apparated here alone, leaving me to make my way to King's Cross Station.

"Um!""

I spin around at the sound of my name.

It is Ella. She has managed to shove open the door to one of the carriages, and is leaning out, her short blond hair tossed about by the wind, violet eyes shining brightly.

I hurry toward her, dragging along my tiny suitcases as the train starts to move forward very slowly. I grab her hand and let her pull my aboard, barely managing to keep my grip on the bag.

"Again?" Ella asks, shaking her head wearily, while trying to smother her enormous grin.

"Shuttup. OK?" I say, "It was my idiot of a brother. Now that he can apparate I have virtually no access to any sort of private transport."

Ella rolls her eyes. She has no siblings. Well, none that we know of. She was an orphan, muggle-born, bought up with foster parents who lived somewhere in Devon. Lucky for her, when they discovered she was a witch, they were thrilled.

I push down the handle of my suitcase, then swing it up into the luggage racks. There is no one else in this compartment, save for the two of us, which is quite unusual. I settle into one of the dark leather seats. Ella sits opposite me.

"You changed _again_, Um?" she asks me, surveying my face intently.

I nod jerkily. My hair is lighter now, more a dark brown, then black. It is more curly too. Thin ringlets escape from the loose not upon my head. My skin is creamy, my eyes a paler green. A few freckles are smeared across my nose.

Of course, had it been anyone else; my brother, my parents, my room mates, they would not have noticed. The changes I make to myself are always subtle. So far, I have managed to keep my secret from many at Hogwarts. I prefer to keep it that way.

Yet Ella always picks the tiny differences.

Ella laughs slightly. Then she perks up.

"What?' I ask, now suspicious. Looks like that from Ella rarely come to any good.

"Guess what I bought you?" she says, her face alight.

"Oh Ella," I say, scrunching up my face, "Please, no. You didn't have too. I told you that."

It had always been a sort of grey area between us. Naturally, being from such an ancient pure blood line, my parents were filthily rich (not that they often bothered to indulge me in anything). Ella's family, on the other hand, already struggled financially. I felt horrible to place yet another burden on them.

"Oh c'mon. Lighten up. Who doesn't like birthday presents? It was practically free anyway. _And_ it's not just for you."

"Fine then," I say grudgingly.

Ella smiles then hops up onto her seat, removing a large box, hidden under a thin sheet of loose wrapping. She offers it to me.

I gaze at her suspiciously before taking it. It is heavy in my hands, and I swear I can hear something banging around inside.

I slowly tear the paper, fumbling with the box underneath...

A massive hairy lump shoots out. I scream and duck for cover as it hits the sideboard.

"What the hell is that?" I scream.

"Well," says Ella, lunging for the furball, "It was supposed to be a cat. A nice, _docile_ cat. Apparently I got some insane monster thing..."

She trails off, now clutching the struggling mass of fur in her hands.

"I though, since Curly... passed away, you might like another pet. Of course, she's not _just_ for you. You'll have to share with me."

I laugh and reach over to pet the animal.

"What's it's name?" I ask her, lifting the cat into my arms.

"Curly Junior," she says proudly, "I even bought her a name tag."

I smile lopsidedly at her. Then I go to wrap her in a hug. Emphasis on the go to, because I took one step and Curly Junior leaped from my arms and shot off out the door.

I sigh, exchange a glance with Ella and then dash off after the cat.

I dart between masses of students, ignoring the odd glances that people are shooting at me. I dive between a pair of Hufflepuff's entwined in each others arms and crawl along the floor, following the white flashes along the floor.

After about six minutes of solid running, Curly Junior slips through a half open door. Standing up I wrench open the door in front of me.

Four young men sit in the seats. I recognise them immediately. The brown haired, almost frail looking Lupin; the short, squat Pettigrew, whose beady eyes dart unnervingly around the room; the black haired, swathe Potter, who lounges back in his seat surveying the room around him and Black.

He is spread out of an entire wall of the compartment, resting his head against the window. His mane of hair is tossed messily to the side, his dark eyes amused. In his arms he cradles Curly Junior.

I freeze in my place. The men are all renowned in the school. Famous among the Grryfindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs, but infamous among the Slytherins. I have always some what admired them, from a distance of course. Approach them, never, discuss it with anyone apart from Ella, never.

The moment I enter the room Potter perks up slightly.

"Why hello, young lady," he says grinning, eyes travelling the length of my body, spreading out his arms, "And how can I be of service."

"Oi. Potter," says Black, "Hands off. You think Evans will put up with anymore of that?"

"For this," Potter says, gesturing to his himself, "I think she can deal."

The two men grin at each other. Pettigrew chuckles. Lupin rolls his eyes. I stand perfectly still, hoping they don't see the little emerald I have pinned to the edge of the Hogwarts jumper I wear. I have seen it before. How prejudice works both ways. They think that everyone who is in Slytherin is a stuck up pureblood, and I've heard enough stories not to want to get on their bad side.

"This your cat?" asks Black, tickling Curly Junior beneath her ears. She purrs in satisfaction.

I nod, moving forward to take it from his arms. As I lean forwards I see his eyes dart to the pin. His whole countenance changes. He grabs my wrist and tugs me forward.

"Slytherin, eh?" he hisses.

I say nothing. Afraid.

He spits on the floor and shoves the cat roughly into my arms. I stagger backward.

"Hey, hey. Sirius," says Potter, raising his hands. "It's just a cat."

"Personally, James. I think you're going senile - She's a Slytherin."

Instantly every eye on me in the cabin turns hostile. Lupin looks wearily away. Potter growls. Pettigrew giggles nervously.

"Get. Out."

I take the advice, and, Curly Junior clutched in my arms, I skid from the cabin, gasping. Then I turn and hurtle away back toward Ella. Almost in tears.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

I suppose I should be more used to that sort of thing. Dismissal, condescension, anger, rejection. But to hear it from people like that...

You see, I hear stories about them. More like fairytales then reality. People who stand up for those who are undermined by society, people who spend their lives trying to protect those who can't protect themselves, from those who would wish them harm. For those who are cruel and evil. I guess, from people like me.

I wonder if I really am a bad person.

...

Sitting in one of the thestral drawn carriages on my way up to the castle I press my hand to the frosted glass. Moist droplets of water condense around the edge of my palm. Outside the swollen orb of the moon hangs in the velvety heavens, it's pale light bleaching the rolling grounds white. The edge of the forbidden forest is marked by a row of trees, their branches entwined in a deadly embrace.

"What's this?" Ella asks suddenly.

I jerk around. Ella sits curled on the opposite seat, Curly Junior sleeping on her lap. She is riffling through my bag. Nosy as always.

"Ella!" I exclaim, lunging for my bag. But the damage is done. In her hand she holds a folded piece of parchment, her eyes scanning it.

"Remedial Defence Against the Dark Arts. You're joking."

I manage to grab the piece of paper from her hands, but it is to late.

"Um," says Ella, "Defence Against the Dark Arts is one of your best subjects."

"Apparently not," I say, "I failed last year."

"Oh, of course," says Ella, "Right. Um, I don't think you realize just how much skill it takes not to score a single mark on your Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL."

I say nothing. There is a moment of silence.

"If you failed your OWL, why do you even need to take remedial DADA? You won't even be doing it for your NEWT's."

I shrug. "Apparently Professor Slughorn spoke to Professor Dumbledore to try and convince me to let me re-take it."

"See," says Ella, "You can't even fool your Head of House. If you're going to pretend to be bad at something, try not getting full marks on every single assignment, essay and quiz you hand in."

"I'm not..." I say, but the protest dies on my lips. She is right, of course. "My parents don't think it's an 'appropriate' subject major for... for someone like me."

"You shouldn't listen to them Um," Ella immediately says, "Who cares what they think of you. They've screwed up your life enough.'

I nod, but say nothing.

"Look, you're making Curly Junior sad," Ella says, picking up the cat and dangling her in front of my face. I grin and push the kitten away.

The rest of our journey is silent.

...

I sit alone.

The Great Hall is alive with noise. Thousands of people line the long wooden benches, their faces lit by thin candles which hover above our heads. The ceiling is littered with stars, the clear night home to only a few thin wisps of clouds. The sorting finished, plates of foods cover every inch of the tables, arrays of delicious aromas tempting my senses.

Despite this, I only pick at my food. I am tired, very tired.

My hands fumble on the silverware. I stab at the tiny bowl of salad, scooping up a piece of lettuce slathered in dressing.

"Umbra Fallon?" A familiar voice asks.

I spin around.

"Professor," I say, automatically lifting my hand to cover my mouth. It is Slughorn, his portly belly concealed beneath a lavish velvet suit. I start and he chortles slightly.

"There's nothing to worry about, girl," Slughorn says, "With me please."

I stand, setting aside my cutlery. Slughorn gestures for me to follow him.

As I pass the Ravenclaw table, Ella catches at the sleeve of my robe.

"What?" she mouths, looking confused.

Frankly, I share her confusion. I have done nothing wrong, so far as I am aware of, and Slughorn's intent seems benign enough. I shrug.

"This way, please," says Slughorn, surveying my frightened features with obvious bemusement. I nod and we exit the Great Hall.

Up a long staircase, down a spiralling corridor. Our slow trudge is monotonous and dizzying, and I loose track of where we are going. In a general upward direction, that much is for certain.

We finally arrive at a small wooden door, it's rickety frame set into the thick stone. Slughorn enters immediately, not pausing to knock, before bursting in.

Sitting inside, are two people. The first I recognise as Professor McGonagal, the tall, commanding Head of Gryffindor House. I have had little to do with her, though the few times I have been in contact with her, she has seemed perfectly respectable.

But it is not her my eyes are drawn to. Sitting directly beside her, lounging in the small armchair... is Sirius Black. His eyes catch mine for a second and his mouth drops open.

"Fuck, no," he says.

"Mr. Black," snaps McGonagall, "You will kindly control your language in current company."

I stand nervously at the edge of the room, hesitant to proceed further in. McGonagall beckons me forward.

The room is quite large, lit by the light of a roaring fireplace, that touches the air with the scent of smoke and ash. Two broad armchairs have been pulled up so that they face directly opposite McGonagall's desk; neat and orderly, thick leather volumes stacked in neat piles across the surface.

I tread carefully forward, taking my seat beside Black. He does not look at me.

"You are aware of why you are here, Ms. Fallon?" asks McGonagall.

"No, professor," I say perfectly honestly.

McGonagall raises her eyebrow. "You did not recieve our letter concerning your remedial Defence Against the Dark Arts classes, perhaps?"

"No," I say, "I mean, I did recieve the letter, Professor."

"Well, then," says McGonagall stiffly, "Let me introduce you to your new tutor."

What? She means... She means him.

"Are you, are you sure Professor?" I ask.

"Perfectly sure," she says, "Unless there has been some mix-up in our system that I am unaware of."

"I did not mean..." I begin to say, uncertain how to phrase this delicately, "I do not mean to be disrespectful" (Black snorts) "but are you sure it's a good idea?"

"You have an issue, with being tutored by Mr. Black? I assure you, he ranked one of the top in his year for the Defence Against the Dark Arts, OWL. He is perfectly qualified in every way."

"I did not mean on my part, Professor."

"Damn straight," interjects Sirius.

McGonagall gives him a foreboding glare.

"I am pleased to say that Mr. Black's opinion on this holds very little pertinence to our executive decisions. This was not a voluntary assignment for him, but unfortunately detention can do only so much to remedy one's misbehaviour."

_So you assumed that the worst possible punishment for him, would be the forced interaction with someone like me? _I think. I do not like being used like this.

"Who knows," she continues, "Perhaps he will also learn something in the process." She raises a single delicate eyebrow at Black.

He rolls his eyes.

"I have talked this through with both Slughorn and Professor Dumbledore. They both agree with me that the best solution to both of our issues is the plan we have thus presented to you. Of course, if you have any objections...?" She trails off.

I swallow slightly.

"None, Professor."

"That's a good girl," says Slughorn, clapping me genially on the back. My entire body rocks forward and I have to grab the arms of my armchair to support myself.

"I have an objection, Professor," says Black, looking extremely pissed off.

"Yes, I am sure I have heard each and every one of them a thousand times in the past half an hour," says McGonagall, her lips stretched into a tense smile.

"But, Professor," he says, "I don't think you understand. _She's a Slytherin_."

I mentally roll my eyes at this remark. _Oh right. Sure, go ahead. Just act like I'm not even here. Doesn't it mean anything to you people that I'm just as much of a human being as you are._

"No, Mr. Black, I don't think you understand. This is a very precarious line you are walking and if you don't..."

"But she's a _Slytherin_," he says again, "She's a pureblood. Her entire family have dedicated themselves to _You Know Who_. It's like, like educating the enemy. Anyway, as if _she_ would need defending from the Dark Arts."

"Sirius Black you will stop this at once. Dumbledore, himself, has given me the OK for this scheme. If you think you no better then him, please, feel free to schedule a meeting with him to discuss your conflict of interest. But until such point as he withdraws his assent, this plan will go ahead. _Whether or not you like it_."

The way they speak about it makes me feel like I am in some sort of top-secret spy movie. "The plan will go ahead". And the fact that they had confirmed this before I was even given a say in the matter? They obviously thought extremely little of me. I suppose I could have gone to my parents, told them of my plight. They knew enough people to bribe me out of this little scheme. But that felt like a defeat on so many levels; I would prove to Black that I was nothing more then the snot-nosed Slytherin bitch he made me out as and finally be forced to retract the great victory I felt after having been so self-dependent after many years of not relying on my parents for anything.

No, they would not win.

McGonagall turns her back on Black, once more addressing me directly.

"I think that it would be best for you to return to the feast. It should not have ended yet. Slughorn, if you will accompany her. Oh, and give her the more fine details will you. Lesson times and such. Good evening, Ms Fallon."

"And to you too, Professor," I say, bobbing my head to her.

Then Slughorn and me leave the office. I could hardly believe I came out of there feeling worse then when I had gone in.


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you for your reviews. It was really helpful to me. XD. Trying to steer away from my Mary Sue-ish tendencies. This is my first fan-fic so I'm trying hard to make it... not bad. ;D.

*Later*

To MacIntyre: Oops. Just realized I deleted that chapter. Promise to fix soon. And thank you for the helpful stuff in your review.

**Chapter Four**

I wonder... Perhaps if I they tell me enough times that I am like that. That I am evil, and wrong and malevolent. That all I can do is harm. Will I become like that?

The only thing there really seems for me to do is tell myself that I am not, as many times as possible, and hope I can counteract, the general chanting of the rest of the world.

...

"Classes, with Sirius Black!" Ella practically screams.

We are sitting in transfiguration the next morning, early to class as usual. We have figured out a system. As we are not able to talk during Breakfast, being sat on tables at opposite ends to each other in the Great Hall, we will generally grab a few pieces of toast and some strips of bacon in a napkin and then bring our food with us to class. We chose the exact same electives in third year, and now have again, in our sixth year (minus Defence Against the Dark Arts on my part).

"Shhh," I say, as Professor McGonagall whips around. We are the only three people in the classroom, and I am sure she heard every single word Ella said. A faint smile tugs at the corners of her mouth and amusement twinkles in her eyes.

"But that... Well that's great!" Ella exclaims excitedly, struggling to keep her voice low, "He is so freaking hot. If there was anything in the entire school that could get you to work better... Well ,the reward of seeing your sexy man-tutor pleased is better then anything. I mean he's practically a legend around here. You know right, how he comes from an entire line of Slytherins, pureblood all the way, and yet he was sorted into Gryffindor! And he and his friends. Dedicated to riding the school of those snot-faced, Slytherin..."

She trails off, realization at why I am not sharing in her squeal session suddenly lighting her eyes.

"No," she says, "He can't think. I mean he must know that you're not like that. He, he... Oh Um."

"Don't worry about it," I say, unpacking my books from my bag, as Ella munches slowly on her piece of raisin toast.

There is a moments pause, then Ella says, "You know. Now that I think about he's not actually that hot and at least if he's being a bastard to you, Lily Evans might accept you into her 'I hate James, Sirius, Lupin and Pettigrew' fanclub. You know, I hear she's actually not that anti-James anymore. I mean, compared to what she used to be (remember that thing with Snape?). Well, apparently, Bruce in fifth year saw them making out. No jokes," she says in response to the stunned look I expect is flitting across my face.

"Really," I say, "No... No! As if. She can't... Honestly?"

Ella nods in earnest, "I even heard that..."

The rest of our "breakfast" passes quickly, us talking furtively in hushed voices, while McGonagall prepares the room for our next class. It is only after ten minutes of this has passed that I finally realize what McGonagall plans to launch into for our first lesson.

Self-transfiguration.

You know, perhaps the start of this term isn't going to be so bad after all.

...

I am standing on the frozen grass of the Quidditch pitch, shivering, broom clutched in my hand.

Why the hell did I decide to do this?

I glance over to the stands where a few clusters of people sit, huddled together against the cold, in greens and silvers. At the very front of the tiers I can see Ella, waving her hands in frantic encouragement.

Oh, right. That's why.

OK, so I am not actually that bad at Quidditch. That's not to say I'm good exactly either. But let's just say that Ella, having seen me both catch a ball and fly about two hundred yards on a broom, had seen a golden opportunity to force me into some character building co-curricular activities. I wasn't opposed to the activity so much as I knew I would never get in. And I didn't want to get on the pitch and look like a complete failure.

I sigh.

"Umbra Fallon?"

I start slightly and turn to see the person who has called my name. He is quite tall, with jet-black hair that frames a pale face. His eyes are dark, searching... I recognize him instantly. Regulus Black.

"Yes," I say, shying a little back from him. I have had very little contact with people of his social standing. I cannot believe he is talking to me.

"I heard you were lucky enough to receive my brother as a tutor."

He chuckles.

I nod. People confuse me. I wonder what he hopes to gain by talking to me.

"He can be very... Well, I expect you already know what I mean."

Again I nod slightly.

"Regardless, I just wanted to tell you that if he continues to be... unsavoury... toward you, then feel free to approach me at any time. I'll alert Slughorn or another teacher if you don't want to yourself. Of course, I would talk to him personally, but I don't think that that would in anyway helpful. Unfortunately, I think it would simply have the opposite effect."

There is a pause.

"Thank you," I say.

He inclines his head slightly, and then walks off.

...

In the end the Quidditch trials don't go to badly. I manage to stay on my broom the entire time, and catch the large majority of the balls that are thrown at me. With two of our star players having graduated last year, Ella tells me I am in with a "fighting chance".

Whatever that means.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

_Have you ever been in that position? You can feel tension building slowly around you; anger, hate, passion. Around you people talk about you, whisper. All of a sudden they think they know who you are. You feel like you have such a tentative hold on reality that at any moment everything you love could just slip away._

_Because what is to stop you becoming what they describe? What if they are right and you are in fact wrong. What if I wasn't made to love, only to despise those who loved; not to be happy, but to be constantly isolated from those who are._

...

I am late.

I pause just outside the door to room sixty four, my hand poised. I go to turn the polished bronze handle but hesitate. I can hear voices inside. I wonder if I am in the wrong place.

I tug out the loose sheet of parchment that Slughorn gave me from within a small pocket sewn to the lining of my cloak. The details written in tiny black ink only confirm that I am indeed in the right place.

Still indecisive I finally pluck up the courage to rap tentatively on the door. Immediately the voices are quieted. When no one answers me, I turn the tiny handle and press forward against the splintered wood of the door.

The room inside is bright. A fire place has been bought to life, though I can see no wood visible. Red and gold flames lick at the edges of their stone prison, giving heat and light to the classroom. The long, thin windows that run the length of the walls have been fastened tightly shut, frost condensing on their panes. The desks have been pushed back against the wall; which I assume at first means we will be doing a practical lesson. But I see no mats on the floor, or cushions. A single desk is set up in the centre of the room.

Sprawled across some of the desks at the edge of the room are Black, Potter, Lupin and Pettigrew. They watch me in total silence as I enter the room.

I stand, frozen in place once. All eyes are on me and I shift nervously.

Black stands quietly, examining me. I can see condescension in his eyes, and I glance at the floor.

"What's your name, girl?" he asks me.

As if you don't already know. "Umbra Fallon," I say.

Potter snorts, and Pettigrew giggles. Lupin gives me an odd look.

"Sit," he says pointing to the chair.

I do as he commands, shuffling over to the desk and seating myself, dropping my bag on the floor.

"Now, girl, you've probably figured out by now that I couldn't give less of a shit about how you do in your Defence Against the Dark Arts exam."

Jeez, no freaking duh. I say nothing.

"So basically, I'll tell you to do something and you do it. If can't be stuffed then don't go blaming me when you fail your exam."

I resist the urge to raise my eyebrows and just nod slightly.

He considers me for a moment. Then he turns on his heel and grabs something from a nearby desk. It is a stack of papers, stuck into a flimsy binder, about an inch thick.

"Read them," he commands, "Then at the end of each chapter, summarise."

I glance downward so he won't see the look of disbelief on my face. Tentatively I open the folder. It is a messy photocopy of the basic text, "Defence Against the Dark Arts: Series 7".

Now, something that strikes me as odd. First of all this book is sure as hell not for people who failed their D.A.D.A OWL. Even though he has not copied the front of the page I know that this edition is for NEWT students. Why? Because of the fact that a year ago I read it. Cover to cover. Frankly, I love D.A.D.A, but, fearing retribution from my parents, I am to scared to admit it.

So what should I do? I do not think Black giving me such a hard textbook is a coincidence or mistake in the slightest. But I do not want to protest against what he has said. I decide not to tell him, but to also leave out the fact that I have read this before.

I look up again. Black has strolled off, back to his friends.

"We should probably clear off in case McGonagall comes," says Potter, his legs stretched lazily across two desks.

Black grunts. As they leave the room I begin to read.

Now the good thing about having read this book before is that I know most of the key points it makes, which gives me an advantage. Slipping out a sheet of blank parchment and a quill I begin to take short notes about everything I read. Soon I become immersed in my work.

It is only when I reach the end of the first chapter on the Unforgivable Spells that I am presented with an unfortunate realization. If I do what he has given me to an acceptable standard then he will probably figure out the game I am playing. However I don't want to do badly. He obviously intends for me to fail miserably and just because of that fact I feel like I need to succeed.

Shoving both my pride and dignity out of the way I decide to just work to his expectations. I set about writing a poorly structured and clearly inaccurate summary of the text. Surprisingly I find it quite hard, to dismiss all my knowledge and just waffle on about whatever points I find that I do not fully understand. I do not pretend to be extremely clever, just a lot more so then someone who would get zero on an exam.

When I am done I look up. Unsure what to do I stick my hand in the air.

Black raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"I... I finished the first summary," I say, holding out the slightly crumpled slip of parchment. He snatches it from me and begins to read.

It takes him little less then five minutes to scan through my summary, and the look of dissent on his face is almost comical.

Finally he tears his eyes away from the page and looks at me like I am insane.

"What the fuck is this?" he asks.

My summary, what sort of idiotic question is that? I stay quiet.

He just stares at me, completely lost for words. Wow. I must have done a good job at making myself look like an idiot. Then something seems to click.

"Let me see the notes you've made."

"W..What?" I ask, my eyes widening suddenly.

"Your notes girl, I want to see them."

I bite my lip, but don't move. Rolling his eyes he grabs them off the edge of my desk, then looking slightly triumphant he begins to read.

I sit there, nervously, waiting for his commentary. Finally he looks up at me, and I see something new in his eyes, something that he obviously struggles to hide beneath his condescension and hate. Respect?

There is an awkward pause then he says.

"Continue what were doing. I won't be reading the rest of your summaries not if they're garbage like that one was," he says, gesturing to the parchment that is now perched on the edge of my desk.

I nod. I wonder if he did that on purpose, knowing that I would be able to write more freely if I didn't have to change it to make him think I was stupider.

Then again maybe he just thought I was a completely idiot.

But I don't think so.

**Please R and R guys. XD**.


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